


Hands Up

by theLiterator



Series: Barry works for the SCPD/Reverse Timeline AU [3]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Gen, Hostage Situations, M/M, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 09:39:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5043340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theLiterator/pseuds/theLiterator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver needs Barry for an evening spent at Queen Mansion wining and dining billionaires.</p><p>Everything goes according to plan.</p><p>J/K, this is Arrowverse and this is Barry Allen and Oliver Queen, literally nothing goes according to plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hands Up

**Author's Note:**

> For Day Three of Olivarry Week 2015 on tumblr: Fake relationship/married.

Oliver was _lingering_ outside the precinct as Joe and Barry left it, and Barry rolled his eyes. “Joe, hey, uh, do you mind? This’ll just be a second.”

Joe patted his shoulder and nodded in the direction of a coffee shop. “Sure, let me just go recharge.”

As soon as Joe was clear, Oliver was crowding into Barry’s space. “What are you doing for dinner?” he asked.

Barry sighed. “Something tells me I’m about to find out.”

“My mom’s having an intimate dinner with half the shareholders and I need you there,” Oliver said.

Barry blinked. “No,” he said. “Joe’s in town, and so is my friend Cisco. I’m going to take them to Big Belly Burger so I can watch Carla shoot Cisco down, and then we’re going to go to their hotel room and talk about how I totally will not tell them who the Vigilante is.”

“Or, instead of lying to your friends, you could spend the night. With me. At my house,” Oliver said, gaze lowering so Barry was drawn to examine his eyelashes. Oliver Queen was entirely too attractive for Barry’s own good.

“And lie to a bunch of complete strangers instead? Yeah, no. And besides, I’m not going to be lying to Joe and Cisco,” Barry said.

“What? What are you going to tell them?” Olive said, all pretense at seduction dropped in favor of the weird, cornered, want-to-flee-but-going-to-fight-anyway thing he did when he got panicked.

“That... I refuse to tell them who the Vigilante is? What else would I tell them? They’ll never believe I don’t know; I have _super-speed_ , and you don’t even wear a mask,” Barry waited for Oliver to pick up _that_ familiar argument so he could shut him down and go find Joe, but Oliver didn’t take the bait.

“They know you’re the Flash?” he hissed. “That’s _insane_. Why would you tell them?”

“Joe’s a cop, and Cisco’s one of the people who helped save me after I fell into that coma,” Barry said. “He's basically the one who told me I was a meta-human. Can’t exactly hide that from him. ‘Oh, no, Cisco. I have no idea who the super-fast lightning crime-fighting guy is, but if I see him while I’m running super-fast, I’ll let him know you asked’? No, that’s stupid. He designed the costume.”

“Because of course you tell people. Okay, fine. They can come too. But mom keeps--” Oliver grimaced. “She wants me to be. I don’t know.”

“I’ve never met your mom,” Barry said. “But based on my experience with parents, I’d bet the word you’re looking for there is _happy_.”

“Forget I said anything,” Oliver huffed and loomed for a second, then he pulled back.

Barry rolled his eyes. “Let me go tell Joe what’s up. What time do you want us there?”

“I’ll send a car. Text me his hotel address. Wear something… uh. Damn. Just. Clean. Wear something clean.” Oliver frowned. “I should have asked you yesterday.”

“Oliver, I’m not a girl, you don’t need to buy me clothes for our fake dates,” Barry said. “Are you trying to tell me this is a suit event? Because I own a suit. And so does Joe.”

“And, uh… the other guy? Cisco?” Oliver asked, mouth turned down at the corners in what Barry had privately termed ‘master zen strategist mode'.

“You’d have better luck getting him to put on your hood than a suit. He’s very suave though. You’ll like him,” Barry said, privately adding ‘I hope’.

“Well, you have an hour. Text me the address. See you there,” Oliver said. Then: “Wait, are you trying to talk up your friend to me?”

Barry grinned. “Maybe!”

“That’s terrible,” Oliver said. “You're supposed to be pretending to date me.”

Barry leaned in, caught Oliver by the back of the neck, and tilted his head back so he could kiss him. It was a pretty sweet kiss, for a fake kiss, but it made Oliver laugh against his lips, so Barry drew back, smiling triumphantly

“It’s a good look on you,” Joe said, and Oliver froze, face hardening into its usual threatening mask.

“What?” Barry asked, turning to Joe with one hand still draped around Oliver’s neck.

“Happiness. I thought you said this was some sort of weird revenge thing?” Joe replied, glaring at Oliver.

“What have you been telling people, Barry?” Oliver said, laughing playboy firmly in place. “Oliver Queen, sir. Great to finally meet you. You’re here to catch that Hood guy, right?”

“A pleasure, I’m sure,” Joe said, taking Oliver’s hand.

“Well, I hope you succeed. It’s pretty scary, coming back home at last, only for some crazy guy to start putting arrows in all of Starling City’s elite.” Oliver was still smiling, and Barry wanted to smack him. ‘Laying it on a little thick there, Ollie,’ he thought furiously.

“Uh-huh,” Joe said.

“So you’ll be able to call tonight a working dinner, right? A lot of suspects and potential victims, all in one room?” Oliver continued. “I’m glad I thought of it when Barry told me about you coming down here this morning.”

“What?” Joe asked.

“My mom’s throwing a cocktail party, and Barry’s coming. I told him he could bring you and his friend; Cisco, right?” Oliver grinned. “The car will come get you at six on the nose. Well, I've got to get going. Bye, Barry,” Oliver said, kissing Barry’s cheek and waving at Joe. “See you in an hour, Detective!”

Barry gaped at Oliver, ready to kill him.

“You won’t arrest me if he turns up missing again, will you?” Barry muttered.

“I don’t know,” Joe said, musingly. “He’s doing me and Cisco a real favor, inviting us to a party like that.”

“Sure he is,” Barry said. “I’ve got to go get my suit. I’ll meet you at the hotel before the car shows up, okay?”

He didn’t wait for Joe’s reply before zipping back to his apartment.

***

Oliver kept bringing Barry food. Joe was doing a good job of circulating among the guests, and Cisco had managed to get Oliver’s sister into a corner for what was probably an extremely excited explanation of some theoretical technology Cisco had invented while he was asleep, and Barry was standing awkwardly next to a potted plant.

Oliver had brought him three canapes and an entire tray of pinwheel sandwiches, this time, and he had his eye on the room in full on vigilante mode.

“What, exactly, are we waiting for?” Barry asked, scarfing down the tiny food. He'd been using his speed more, lately, and that meant he needed to eat even more than usual.

“Someone is working against me,” Oliver said.

“Literally everyone is working against you,” Barry replied. “You’re a _wanted criminal_.”

“Someone is specifically set at cross purposes with the Hood, and he’s in this room,” Oliver said, frowning that frown he saved especially for Barry. “China White wouldn’t have been involved otherwise.”

Barry rolled his eyes. “You mean the woman who almost killed you? The woman I saved you from?”

Oliver sighed and gritted his teeth. “Just keep an eye out for anything suspicious, okay? You know, when you confronted me two weeks ago, you said you wanted to help.”

“Yeah, help,” Barry said. “Not pretend to be in love with you in front of your family. Not get yelled at for saving your life.”

Oliver slammed his fist into the wall by Barry’s head, and Barry rolled his eyes again, even as a wave of silence rippled through the room while eyes flicked over to their corner.

“Damn it Barry,” Oliver said. “You can always say no.”

“To you?” Barry said, but then a greatly daring man approached.

“Is everything okay,” he asked politely with a British accent.

“Walter,” Oliver said. “I’m fine.”

“I wasn’t asking you. Barry, wasn’t it?”

Barry ducked around Oliver and smiled at Walter.

“He called dibs on the ham sandwich, but I took it anyway,” Barry said with a rueful grin. “I forgot about his food issues,” he added.

Walter’s eyes flicked between them. “Raisa does keep finding food in his room,” he allowed.

“Yeah, well,” Barry said, shrugging. “He was alone for a long time. I’d hoard food too, if I’d had to hunt it and kill it myself.” Privately, he was horrified to have hit on an _actual_ issue of Oliver’s and had to resist the urge to turn around so he could assess Oliver’s mood, or maybe run away.

“Let me send someone over with a new tray,” Walter said. “I hope we get a chance to sit down and talk sometime, Barry. Oliver.”

Barry grinned and waved, and Walter meandered off, only to get snagged by a concerned looking Joe.

“Barry,” Oliver said, then ran a hand through his hair. “Look. I just, I’m not used to--”

The sound of breaking glass echoed through the room, and Barry felt his senses accelerate so that everything was happening at a snail’s pace. Oliver grabbed him by the shirt and forced him down, and then leaped for Thea and Cisco’s corner. Barry dropped slowly enough that he could see that they _were_ being attacked.

Four gunman, two support, all dressed in black, no identifying marks on the uniforms.

Professionals.

And then the gun went off.

Barry tracked the bullet, figured out its target, and _acted_ in the flash between two thoughts, catching the bullet and tossing it to the ground before it could hit Dig in the chest.

Barry managed to finish his fall somewhat gracefully, and even somewhat near where he should have landed, just in time for one of the gunmen to grab Moira by the hair and press the barrel of his gun between her eyes.

“Oliver Queen,” a modified voice intoned. “Come with us, or your mother dies.”

Barry shut his eyes and muttered a curse, and then heard Oliver shouting, so he had to open his eyes again and watch as Moira was pistol-whipped into unconsciousness (a part of Barry that was running calculations and assessments at the speed of light noted the odds of traumatic brain injury from the the action).

“Oliver, no!” he snapped, lurching up to intercept Oliver before he did anything stupid, like kill people in plain sight in front of witnesses.

“Mom!” Oliver shouted, and Barry grimly held onto him. Joe pulled a handgun from his ankle holster, and took careful aim.

“Police! Drop your weapons or I will fire!” he snapped, and the entire room focused on him.

The Flash was happy enough for the distraction, and he _acted_.

As soon as the attackers were disabled and restrained, Oliver rushed to Moira’s side, fingers careful on her throat and then, once he’d presumably found a pulse, straightening her into the recovery position. “Mom,” Oliver whispered, leaning over her.

Barry had seen at least three people on cell phones, so odds seemed good someone was dialing 911 even if Joe wasn’t, so he knelt next to Oliver, just within his line of sight so as not to spook him.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” Oliver said furiously. “I could have had that.”

“You kind of did ask,” Barry pointed out. “And you didn’t _have_ to have that. That’s what friends are for.”

“You don’t understand,” Oliver said. “She’s my _mother_. I’d do _anything_ to keep her safe.”

“Oliver,” Barry said, and then Joe was approaching, so he just shook his head. He wasn’t sure he’d _ever_ be ready to tell Joe what had happened in that minute and fifty-two seconds he’d spent in the past, and besides.

Oliver was dealing with enough of his own pain, at the moment. He didn’t need Barry’s to worry about too.

“She’ll be fine,” Joe assured, checking Moira over. “Kid like you, she’s probably endured way worse.”

Oliver didn’t smile. He did reach for Barry’s hand, and Barry didn’t pull back. Oliver needed comforting, right then, and a hand was a small enough thing to offer.

***

Barry stuck with a distraught and brooding Oliver all the way to the hospital, where he ended up standing next to Oliver, who had grabbed his hand with both of his and not let go for almost an hour while they watched Moira Queen sleep.

One of the nurses had not-so-subtly taken several pictures of them, and Barry hadn’t really cared, not with Oliver clinging so tightly to him.

Finally, Moira stirred, waking up slowly, until she recognized Oliver and blinked at him in surprise.

“Oliver!” she said, suddenly. “I thought you’d gone with them.”

“No, Mom,” Oliver said. “Can’t get rid of me that easily, not this time.”

Moira grimaced at him. “I’m really glad to see you take care of my son,” she said, focusing in on Barry with laser intensity. “I don’t often have that reassurance from his _friends_.”

Barry shrugged. “Happy to help, Mrs. Queen. And Joe was busy directing the cops around, so I had nowhere better to be. Can’t investigate a crime I was a victim of; there’s some fine print about conflicting interests.”

“Regardless, I like to see him happy,” she said. “And he’s happier with you.” Her eyes flickered shut, and her respiration dropped back down to sleeping levels, the beeping of the monitor growing slower in response.

Barry waited a few more minutes, then carefully extracted his hand from Oliver’s death grip.

“I should go,” he said.

“What?” Oliver asked, blinking up at Barry with such an honest expression of confusion on his face that Barry wanted to look away.

“I mean, I get that it makes a good cover, and making out against the cabinets in the evidence room sure does keep Detective Lance away when we’re doing Hood-stuff at work, but I can’t lie to your mom while she’s in the hospital, man.”

Oliver nodded. “Okay,” he said quietly.

Barry blinked. “That’s it? You’re not going to Oliver Queen at me bossily until you get your way?”

“You’ve got morals, Barry. I should respect that, not-- if you hadn’t been there tonight, there’d be a lot of dead hitmen and I’d be in jail. This way, I have a chance to figure out who sent them and no one knows my secret. You don’t have to lie to my mom, not if you aren’t comfortable with it.”

Barry nodded slowly.

“Go home, Barry Allen,” Oliver said.

“You still have my number though,” Barry pointed out. “So call me when she’s better, or if you need backup.”

Oliver just _looked_ at him, so Barry sped away.


End file.
